


The Foster-Care System is a Fucking Joke (Ian Gallagher x Male!OC)

by lehboredfangirl



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, adopted by veronica and kev
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-15 16:57:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13617672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lehboredfangirl/pseuds/lehboredfangirl
Summary: ANDREW "Drew" JONAH has suffered through a lot during his time in the foster-care system. He's been melded into a scrapper, a stoic badass who takes a while to open up. When he does, he turns into a sarcastic piece of shit who doesn't think twice before throwing himself into harms way for a bit of fun. One day, he gets thrown into a foster home with Veronica Fisher and Kevin Ball-- how much of his shit can they put up with? Their bullshit tolerance is pretty high after their experiences with the Gallaghers. Speaking of the Gallaghers, Ian's pretty sweet, isn't he?





	1. THE FOSTER-CARE SYSTEM IS A FUCKING JOKE

**Author's Note:**

> Ethel doesn't exist in this fic-- sorry baby Jonah. Also, this doesn't perfectly follow the plot. Sorry ;)

The foster-care system has its faults is a fucking joke. I don’t know how the whole white-dude privilege thing works, but in the foster care system it’s different. The younger you are, the more privileged-- you’re more likely you are to get adopted. The race thing is spread out pretty evenly-- something like 40% of kids in foster care are white and something like 40% of the kids who get out are white. Chicks are a bit favored in system. My theory is that they can look more innocent. Chicks have longer eyelashes and most of the time they don’t have as much facial hair. Biracial kids sometimes have an easier time getting adopted. Also, having a criminal record and a lacking personality can fuck up your chances.

I, personally, am a walking mess of a person. Starting off in the foster system when I was seven, it looked like I would be adopted. Man, did that not happen. Within the first two months of my time, I beat the crap out of a kid on the playground. Carry Jenkins. At the time she was almost 4’8” and she was huge. I, on the other hand, stood at only 3’8” and I was a fucking twig. Looking back on it, Carry probably had a crush on me. She’d flat-tire me while walking to class, push me into walls in the hallways, slam doors just as I started walking in, hell, she’d punch me in the ribs and tell teachers I’d tried to steal her lunch. Well, I, being the bad-ass motherfucker (a B.A.M.F., if you will) I was and always will be, decided enough was enough. One day, that bitch crossed a line and pulled me off the monkey bars when I was only one fucking bar away from beating the King of the Assholes, Matt Greenville, in a race. Peeved off, I took it upon myself to put the hoe in her place by repeatedly hitting her in the abdomen with a tree branch. Sexism is still alive and well in America, folks, ‘cause I got in deepshit for that one, and did Carry ever get in trouble? Nope. 

Anyways, from that point on, my attitude fell into a one-way, downward spiral. No one on the playground fucked with Andrew Jonah. The whole stoic-badass thing wasn’t all that appealing to the dozens of foster families I tore through in my early life. By the time I turned fourteen the likelihood of me being adopted was in the toilet. I had ripped my way through nearly every foster home in Illinois, group homes didn’t suit me-- I wound up driving multiple asshole group home leaders out of the whole child-care thing.  
I was leaving behind a legacy. My social-worker was my only friend, the only person to ever care for me and the only one who really got me. Mr. Bentley and I had a strange relationship. He used me to test out foster homes that he thought were… sketchy, to say the least. I had already been booted from every semi-nice ones, and I kinda enjoyed pissing off the crappier ones. Mr. B would toss me in the most ghetto home possible and, after I got kicked out, he’d ask me if they were actually bad parents-- or if I had just acted like a little shit. In exchange, I didn’t get thrown into group homes anymore. Sadly, all good things must come to an end. I had ran through every foster home. Every. Single. One. 

“Hey, hey, hey, Mr. B. What group home am I getting shipped off to now?” A lopsided smirk fell onto my face, replacing my usually stoic expression as I hopped into the shotgun seat of the car.

“Uh, uh, uh… First thing’s first: How was the Perry household?” Bentley shook his head at me, tossing his phone into my lap so I could choose the tunes for our car-ride. 

“Welp, you were right to get bad vibes from him. He’s a hitter,” I grimaced slightly, gesturing casually at my left eye. 

“What sorta hitter?” 

“A bad one, I’m pretty sure he broke his hand. Bit of a drinker, mostly just trying to mooch off of foster parent cash.”

“Well, that sucks.”

“Got me in the ribs pretty good,” I muttered.

“Shit. Ice box is in the back, first-aid kit’s under your seat,” he repeated for what seemed to be the millionth time. The routineness of the situation filled me with a sick sense of security. The only sense of continuity in my life. 

“Eh, I’m good. Where’re we headed?”

“Good news. Another ghetto foster home just popped up. Offering to take kids between thirteen and sixteen.”

“How old am I?”

“Fifteen.”

“How ghetto is this house, exactly?”

“A chick and a dude. Guy’s a bartender, gal’s a pornstar. Chicago-- south-side,” a smirk lit up his face, he knew I’d like this one.

“Sounds fun. You got any smokes?”

“Glove compartment,” he murmured, tossing me a lighter.

“Thanks,” I lit my cigarette, rolling down the window, huffing out a puff of smoke. 

“No problem, kiddo.”

“So… you meet them yet?”

“Nah, but I’ve heard they seem nice.”

“Names?”

“Kevin Ball and Veronica Fisher.”


	2. A PEPPERONI KINDA KID

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DREW throws Kev a bone, which feels fitting to him because the man is basically a puppy with the whole father-son thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Giant= Kev= Kevin  
> Tits= V= Veronica  
> The rest you can figure out for yourself. This chapter is HEAVILY based off of 1.9, so is chapter 3.

“... TOUCHDOWN!” a distinctly male voice echoed through the house, along with the familiar sound of a football being caught. 

“Hello? I’m… sorry. I’m David Bentley from the DCFS…” he smiled

“Oh! Uh, hello! I’m Veronica Fisher, this is my husband, Kevin,” a woman introduced, voice coated in honey. Her pursed lips morphed into a faux grin. 

“Hey, heh. Hi. Nice to meet you.” 

“Thank you for being available on such short notice…” Mr. Bentley gave me a look, gesturing for me to stand in the doorway with him. 

“‘Sup,” I nodded at them. A pretty, dark-haired woman leaned against the counter across from me. She looked me up and down, skepticism touching her face as her eyebrows furrowed. The man’s face, on the other-hand, lit up. Well, that’s something I haven’t seen in a while. The black eye, dark clothing, piercings and bruised knuckles I donned didn’t seem to help the woman’s image of me. 

“Wow… Okay, hi,” Veronica seemed to decide to start off on a high note. An elbow to my back (courtesy of Mr. Bentley) told me it was time I exchange pleasantries.

“Andrew Jonah. Call me ‘Drew,’” I introduced myself. 

“Drew’s been in the foster system for, what’s it been? Eight years? He was most recently released from a… less than suitable environment for children.”

“Less than suitable… You mean… abusive?” Kevin asked, voice dripping with sympathy. A lull in conversation took place after that wondrous comment. 

“Well, uh, I’ll just leave you to set up camp,” Mr. B patted me on the back. It was the “see you soon” pat. He left without bothering to say goodbye. 

*****

“Hey, Drew. Veronica’s setting up for you in the living room. In the meantime, pick your poison,” Kevin strolled into the kitchen, which I had yet to leave, carrying a stack of board games, “Parcheesi? Monopoly? Clue? No? Yes? Maybe?” He sat down at the table with me, in all his blissful ignorance, “Wanna go to the park? Throw the old pigskin around?”

“I’m good,” I responded thoughtlessly. Getting close to someone who would soon throw me on my ass wasn’t something I planned on doing; even though every piece of my soul wanted to kick the giant’s ass at Monopoly, the pain isn’t worth the satisfaction. 

“Let’s go grab a burger. There’s a new kids’ place where the waiters dress like famous Chicago gangsters. Although I have no idea what that has to do with kids… Or burgers,” I pinched the bridge of my nose, too tired to deal with the man’s excitement. “What?” 

Shit. “I could go for,” Crap, “some smokes? A slice of pizza.” 

“I’m justa giving the dog a bone” (ACDC). 

“Alright! That’s the spirit! Pizza first, we can pick up a pack of smokes at the Kash-N-Grab on the way home,” a stupid grin swept across his lips. 

*****

Have you ever sat down and had a meal with someone you don’t know? Someone you don’t have any desire to know, someone you truly don’t care for, someone you have nothing in common with? If you haven’t, it’s awkward as shit. 

“So… you’re a pepperoni kinda kid, huh?” What kinda dumbass question is that? If I wasn’t so busy eating I would call you out on that desperate attempt to get to know me. I swallowed the pizza, looking up at the idiot who asked the idiotic question.

“What kinda dumbass question is that?” The man chose not to respond, pressing his lips together awkwardly.

“So… you’ve been in foster-care for eight years?” The Giant tried again, receiving a curt nod in response, “Why haven’t you been adopted?”

“Dunno,” I intentionally left him to make of the vague response what he will. The silence that followed lasted through a piece and a half of pizza, before he tried again.

“Yeah, you do.”

“I do what?”

“You know why you haven’t been adopted,” he practically whispered, as if it were some kind of secret. Another attempt to connect.

“I kick ass,” a wolfish smirk slid onto my lips.

“The asses of people who deserve it?”

“The asses of people whose asses I deem necessary to kick.”

“Is there any sort of… criteria or something?”

“Nope,” my grin grew as the line of questioning seemed enjoyable, “just, whoever’s ass I want to kick.”

“Yeah, but, like, what would make you want to kick someones ass?” My eyebrows furrowed-- Is he stupid?

“Can we go get a pack of smokes now?”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

*****

The Kash-N-Grab was a tiny, ghetto corner-store. Turning the corner to get there, my shoulder knocked against a grimy-looking kid, maybe around my age, who only stopped to say, “Watch where you’re going, fuck-head.” I let him go, as I wanted my smokes, and the Giant was willing to pay for them. 

Standing just outside the store was a flannel-clad redhead, whose dumb smile turned to a friendly one as the Giant entered his line of sight. The Giant walked three or four steps ahead of me. Chills ran through my body as I remembered what I was wearing and how disgusting that kid had been. I wore a black cashmere hoodie with green undertones, paired with beige pants. Mr. Bentley bought me the hoodie (he turns into a fucking Kardashian when it comes to choosing clothes), and, although I have no idea what cashmere is, Mr. B very carefully reiterated to me that I had to keep it nice-- “It’s cashmere, Drew, CASHMERE.” Had the Dirt Boy gotten any scum on it, I’d’ve beaten the shit out of him. Luckily (for him), my hoodie seemed fine. 

The redhead greeted the Giant as we walked in, “Hey, Kev! What can I get you?” My eyes instinctively cased the building, feet moving me casually through the small store. My thumbs slipped into my belt loops as I craned my neck to see every square inch of the place.

“Pack of…?” The Giant turned to me expectantly.

“Hm?” I quirked an eyebrow at the pair, not having had the attention span to comprehend any of what had been said. 

“What do you smoke?” The redhead smiled lightly at me. 

A light smirk graced my lips, “Mary Ja-- I mean… reds.” I soft laugh slipped past his lips, grin consuming his entire expression. 

“Ian,” he stretched his hand out to me. 

“Drew,” I shook it. 

“You’re staying with V and Kev, right?” V and Kev… Tits and the Giant?

“Yeah.”

“I’m a house down-- 2119. I’m sure you’ll be coming over lots…” The Giant handed Ian a few crumpled bills. 

“Why would that be?” My brows furrowed, head cocking to the side slightly. 

“V and Fiona, my sister, are best friends.” 

“Nice,” I picked up the pack, popping it open and placing one between my lips, leaving it dangling, unlit in my mouth. 

“So… I guess I’ll catch you around?” 

“I guess you will,” I smirked, exiting the store in front of the Giant, who shouted his goodbyes at Red, oblivious to the flirtatious undertones the conversation I had just had contained.


	3. FRENCH TOAST

2119\. As it turned out, I’d be going to the Galla-something house sooner than I thought I would. A little over an hour after I’d had my exchange with Ian, I was standing in his house, “Hey, hey, I want you guys to meet our new son.” Jack the Giant Ass exclaimed as he entered the home.

“Foster son,” Tits corrected before I could. 

“Why you gotta do that?” The Giant asked rhetorically.

“Let me help you with that,” a woman, who I assumed was Ian’s sister (Fiona?), took the pot of pasta from me. I had taken it from Tits when I saw her almost spill it. She walked it to the kitchen, muttering under her breath in such a way that she probably thought I couldn’t hear it, “You weren’t kidding about him…” Both my left ear and right brow piercings suddenly felt hot, and I got the urge to fix my spiky-topped hair. The designs on the faded sides of my hair suddenly felt ghetto. 

“Hi, I’m Karen. Nice to meet you,” a blonde chick who smelled like sex reached her hand out for me to shake, which I did. 

“Drew.”

A homeless man and a redheaded girl crashed through the door, “Frankie’s home!” 

The redheaded girl immediately began jumping up and down on the couch, “Oh, my god, I am so wired.”

Ms. Bitch (Fiona), Tits and the Giant walked into the room, “Debs, what’s goin on?”

“We got high on sugar because Daddy quit drinking.”

“Whose daddy?” Bitchy asked.

“Me Daddy. Me, me, me. Mm…” The man (Frank?) poured a pack of sugar into his mouth, causing Strawberry Shortcake to giggle.

“Oh, shit,” the guy who was boning Karen stared at his dad. 

“What?” Ms. Bitchy asked.

“He’s done this once before.”

“We gotta help Daddy stay busy and keep off of drinking so he can make $3,000!” The little girl explained. 

“Hey, everybody, come here. Gather around. I’ve got something I want to say,” Frank? announced, “I know I haven’t been the most exemplary father for the past three… or 15 years… But, now, I’m gonna need your help to get through this. From this point forward, we’re going to be a family again,” his eyebrows furrowed as his eyes landed on me, “Who the hell is that?” Fuck off. 

A series of games broke out, during which I slipped into the kitchen to drink all their booze. The only remotely interesting thing was when Frank started playing the piano. 

“I didn’t know Frank played the piano!” The Giant remarked. 

“Neither did I,” Fiona laughed. I play the piano.

*****

“Hey, the Gallaghers invited us to go bowling,” the Giant walked into the living room, where I was smoking a joint, “quit it with the pot smoking, emo thing and let’s go have some fun.”

“Veronica took some of it, told me she’d pay me back next week.”

“Hey, Kev, we’re all waiting on you,” Lip’s train of thought was interrupted by his own giggles as the Giant rubbed his temples-- looking down at my little pot-party. 

*****

“I must warn you, I have bowled before!” Frank cheered, as we strolled into the bowling alley, “That’s what I’m talking about!” The piece of human garbage yelled as he bowled a spare, “For you! For you! I love you! Did you see that?” 

Carl and Debbie (Ians younger siblings-- the weird one and Strawberry Shortcake) cheered on their father, “Go, Dad!” I stood awkwardly to the side as Lip (the one who was boning Karen, a really laid back guy about a year or two older than me) seemed to have a weird moment with his younger siblings as the Giant and Frank continued bowling. 

In that moment I did what I’ve done with every foster family. I started my path towards being an asshole. The best piece of advice I have I got from an older foster sibling, back when I was nine-years-old, “Slip out the back before they know you were there, worst-case scenario is that nobody cares. You don’t wanna be around when all the heartfelt bullshit goes down, even the most badass of us know the emotional shit is what’s really scary.” I’m pretty sure he stole that from a Fort Minor song, but the advice works well. Don’t bond, just slip out the back and blow that fucking popsicle stand. A bowling alley? Not my scene. Smoking pot behind the bowling alley? Much more my pace. 

*****

The Ball-Fisher (lol) household’s roof was a nice place to relax. When you looked up you could see the stars and when Tits and the Giant talk about you in their bedroom, you can hear exactly what they’re saying. 

“Is this about the kid?” Tits asked.

“Yeah.”

“What now?”

“You took pot from the kid and said you’d pay him back next week?”

“So?”

“So, you lied. He’s not even gonna be here next week.”

“What’s the big deal? Kid’s a freak.” F-u-c-k-i-n-g c-u-n-t-b-a-g.

“V, that kid needs us. You saw those bruises of his. Not to mention that he’s been baked all day…” ...rat. 

“What?”

“Completely stoned-- all day. Also, I think he’s a gay.” The giant is more perceptive than I previously thought. 

“What in the hell?”

“Yeah, a fifteen-year-old kid, abused, always stoned, always getting into fights and he’s gay. And, who knows what crazy family the kid’s going to get if we give him back.”

“Kevin. We’re not keeping him.”

“I think we should, until he gets a permanent home. We can help him live without all the violence and stuff in his life.”

“This is none of our business.”

“We signed on for it.”

“No, you signed on for it. I signed on for the money.” Biiiiiitch. The sound of sheets rustling filled my ears, “Where are you going?”

“I’m sleeping on the couch,” and the door slammed shut. #TeamKev?

*****

It had been about an hour since Tit’s and the Giant had had their fight, and I was walking along the porch railing, for the adrenaline rush, mostly. The Giant had left and Tit’s had just walked out, not even surprised at my daredevil-antics, “You seen Kev?”

“He went out to play basketball.”

“Oh,” she muttered sadly, watching me with such an intensity I could feel it, “How ‘bout we go inside and get you some breakfast? I make a mean French toast.” I turned to her, cocking an eyebrow doubtfully, “Come on… Get down from there.” Eh, what the hell. I hopped off the railing, standing in front of her as she looked at me once again. She snatched my hand before I could take a step away and practically dragged me into the house, “Sit.” she pointed at the kitchen table, “When I was a kid, my mother would make me and my brother anything we wanted for dinner on our birthdays. I always asked for French toast.” I clenched my jaw, staying sat at the seat. 

“Hey,” the Giant greeted as he walked in. 

“Hey,” Tits responded. 

“We’re having French toast,” I explained dryly, an amused smirk dancing on my lips. 

“Cool,” the Giant responded, seeming content, “I’m going to go take a shower, I’ll be right back.” I nodded at him. 

The french toast wasn’t all that bad, by the way.


	4. Toast & Twinkies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is really short but it was pretty hard for me to write haha,,, I stopped updating because I didn't think anyone was reading sorrsorrysorry please comment if you're reading it really hypes me up to write!

“Kev? Veronica?” Debbie called out, walking into the house. I sat on the couch, crunching on some toast. “What are you eating?” She sat down on the couch.

“Toast.”

“That’s… that’s not toast.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” she moved closer to me, “that’s just warm, chewy sandwich bread… What’d you do to it?”

“I microwaved it…?” How else would one make toast?

“You’re weird…” she sat for a brief moment, finger tapping her chin, “I’m going to the library.” She stated it as though daring me to question her decision-- so, of course, I did just that.

“Alone?” 

“Yeah… Unless… do you want to come with?” I stood as she did, tossing my toast on the coffee table. 

“Sure.”

*****  
Libraries, if you haven’t been to one recently, are still just as boring as ever. The walls reeked of that old-paper smell. It reminded me of when I lived with the Julio Family, back in junior high. They used to drop me off at the library, and I’d comb through the pages of the older books. 

I’d simply rip out a page and use it to roll a blunt. The old-paper smell didn’t exactly hide the smell of weed, but it definitely made me feel sophisticated. Besides, no one would miss the pages of the older books. We all know those only still exist to make people seem smart-- their only real purpose is to look aesthetic. So, for old times sake, I ripped a page from a giant Edgar Allen Hoe book and slipped out the library. Debbie wouldn’t miss me. 

“Thank you Heavenly Father and Mr. Hoe for providing me with this hella fine smoke, it’s been a difficult life and I’m glad I’m able to enjoy in peacefu…” I turned the corner, now standing behind the library. A blond haired boy squealed as a taller, muscular guy (Imma call him BigBoi) pushed him to the ground. BigBoi barked out a sharp slur at the (newly dubbed) Twink. 

“I know you’re insecure about your own sexuality, but there’s no reason to take it out on me, you twisted buffoon!” That was the Twinkiest clap-back I’ve ever heard… 

“Fuck you!” BigBoi yelled, grabbing Twinky by the collar of his shirt and slamming him into a wall.

“Never mind Mr. God, fuck you, I just wanted to get high.” 

“Listen, Brad,” Brad’s the most stereotypically jock name I can think of, of course BigBoi’s name would be Brad… “I know I embarrassed you, but it wasn’t intentional and-- pleasedon’thitmepleasepleasepleaseIlovemyface--”

BigBoiBrad had lifted his fist to hit the Twink, but my urge to throw myself into a fight overcame my urge to take a smoke and before I knew it my fist was cracking against BigBoiBrad’s face. It’s easy to clock someone when they’re beating the crap outta someone else. 

Footsteps followed Brad’s shout of pain, coming from my left. I turned to the Twink, who made eye contact with me for about half a second before throwing himself into a trash bin to escape the incoming JockBoi’s. 

I didn’t hesitate to leap on top of Brad (who was laying on the ground, writhing in pain), slamming my fist into his nose twice more before blood splattered across his whole lower face. He jerked and twisted around, almost succeeding at throwing me off of him, but I was clearly the most experienced asshat, and threw a quick jab at his throat before a pair of hands grabbed my legs, dragging me off of BigBoiBrad. 

I twisted, forcing the hands to slip from my ankles. I kicked the new guy in the face, causing him to stagger back as I rolled away and scrambled back onto my feet. The guy I kicked in the face swung at me a second before I got my balance. I pulled off some Matrix-level shit and swung my upper body back, avoiding the punch by very little. I scrambled away from him once again. He reached out for me, but his enormous height worked to my advantage (I dub thee… TolBoi!). I crouched down and lunged at his legs, a football-esque tackle knocked the air out of TolBoi’s lunges, and I could feel him gagging from the sheer force of the hit. I moved away from him before he could get his balance, turning to leave the scene--

CRACK! A fist slammed into my face, my nose crunching against the third guys fist. I could already feel my left eye bruising, blood dripping down my chin and cheekbone swelling up. I fell, hard on my back. Red filled my vision as three people stood above me, feet slamming down on my ribs every half a second or so. 

Injured? Sure. Done? Nope. I couldn’t tell you whether or not my vision was red due to the blood or the rage, but I could tell you I was very angry. As they continued to stomp on me, I took a brief moment to think about my time at the Julio household. I could smell the marijuana in the air, along with the old paper it was rolled in. I could feel my blood on my fingers as I stitched up my own wounds. I could see my twelve-year-old self in the mirror, hair matted with the familiar red-- covered in it, with purple bruises painting my broken face. I could taste the metal. I could smell the booze on my foster father’s shirt. I could feel myself break. 

A foot landed on my chest, knocking the air from me yet again, but my hands clasped around the ankle it was attached to and I pulled. The asshole attached to the ankle slipped in my blood, and I threw myself on top of him before his friends could even touch me. SLAM! CRACK! CRUNCH! He gagged-- it was the third guy (AnkleBoi). His screams hurt my ears so I grabbed his hair, pulling his head forward before slamming it back onto the ground. He was alive. He would be fine. But he was done. 

BigBoiBrad choked on his screams as I turned to him. He stood, petrified as I moved towards him. In one, slick move, kicked him between the legs so hard his balls would have to descend a second time. TolBoi’s hands were up pretty quick.

“I don’t even like these assholes, my cousin Jim’s gay.”

I backed away from the JockBois, watching TolBoi pick up his friends and drag them back to his car. The Twink hopped out of the trash bin and sprinted away from the scene. I assume I was still seeing red, as, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the silhouette of a man watching me. I could’ve sworn his hair was red.


	5. FALLING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chap is trash but I really tried ripppp

“Andrew motherfuckin’ Jonah-- where the fuck have you bee--” Tits inhaled sharply as she caught my eye, “what… what happened to your face!?” She began rambling the second I entered the Gallagher household, Debbie having lead me to the home from the library. 

“I think something’s wrong with him-- he isn’t answering any of my questions…” Debs shouted over the many voices that filled the room in response to my state. Blood still oozing from my nose, covering my mouth, chin and neck, my face had begun to shift into that gross yellow-purple color. My knuckles were bloodied and bruised, and it was obvious from the way I stood that the rest of my body wasn’t in any better shape. 

“Debs-- are you okay?” Fiona asked, letting out a sigh of relief as the Strawberry Shortcake look-alike nodded. The room was filled with people. Tits stood in front of me, hand grasping my jaw as she tilted my face side to side, analysing my wounds. Fiona stood behind her, brushing my hair from my eyes as she barked orders to the older Gallagher brothers. Lip stood in the kitchen, beer in hand, eyes skimming my up and down as if sizing me up. Ian had just entered the home through the back door, and was already opening the freezer to find something to ice my face with. The Giant sat on the couch, eyes trained on me with his beer nearly touching his lips. He was frozen. Kinda like the peas Ian had grabbed from the freezer. He was at my side pretty quick, gently pressing the peas to my eye-cheekbone-nose area. 

“What the fuck happened?” Lip asked calmly, taking a long swig of his beer. A silence followed his question, eyes all falling on me. With a deep shrug, a familiar two-word phrase slipped from my lips:

“I fell.”

Pained, frustrated expressions blossomed over each and every face in the room. Ian’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing, moving to allow Tits to hold the peas. He slid down my body, lifting my shirt to see my ribs-- bruised and beaten. 

“More ice!” The Giant ran into the kitchen at Ian’s words, but not before flashing me a saddened look. Tits took a deep breath before doing anything, but quickly decided this wasn’t something she could let go. 

“Debbie…” her voice dripped with honey, “what did you see?” The rooms focus had been shifted to the little girl. She twiddled her thumbs, eyes darting between Fiona and I. I gave her a light nod, a look that gave her permission to tell them what she saw. I wasn’t going to be that one asshole who makes a kid stress over whether or not to keep a secret from her family. 

“I went to V and Kev’s house and Drew was eating some mushy bread--”

“It was toast.”

“Microwaved bread is not toast!” This banter was met with confused looks, causing Debbie to quickly carry on, “And he offered to go with me to the library. And I was at the computers with Simon, and he had just disappeared. So I went out to look for him when I was done and he was just there. Behind the library, smoking.” Silence followed as the group quickly realized she knew nothing. 

The bag of frozen peas slipped slightly, pushing a little too hard against my bruised cheekbone. A sharp inhale and Tits began apologizing-- Ian taking the bag from her, holding it to my face just right. 

“What’s the damage?” Lip directed his question at Ian-- avoiding the elephant in the room. 

“Black eye, broken nose, bruised cheekbone, bruised ribs-- bruised everything… He should be fine. Looks like he got stomped on…” the Red assessed, dropping down to look at my ribs. His fingers traced a particularly big bruise on my left side, causing every hair on my body to stand on end. My jaw clenched slightly at the closeness. 

“I’m fine,” the words escaped me. 

“What happened?” The Giant tried again. 

“I fell,” I responded without thinking about it. 

“Falling doesn’t explain these injuries.” I stayed silent.

“Who won-- you or the ground?” Lip asked, offering me a beer. 

“I did,” half my mouth rose on my face, “I definitely did.”

“How many?” Lip pushed further.

“How many times did I fall? Three.”

“Three? Nice.” Ian’s eyes glowed with slight admiration as Tits began readying bandages for my ribs. 

“He needs to wash up so we can bandage him,” V muttered. 

“Use our shower, he shouldn’t be walking right now-- even if it’s just a few houses down,” Fiona offered quickly. Maybe Ms. Bitch has a soft spot for fighters… 

“I’ll handle him,” Ian offered. Tits and the Giant made eye contact for a quick second before Tits nodded at the red-head.

“I’ll make actual toast for you so you can eat when you come out!” Debbie chimed in. 

“Alright, Debs…” I nodded at the people in the room, smirk firmly planted on my bloodied face.

Ian grabbed my arm, wrapping it around his shoulders, leaning me into him so that he could pull me up the stairs. He dragged me into a bedroom-- one I assumed he shared with Lip and Carl. 

“Alright I’m just going to put you down…” his arms moved around me, as he slid me off of him, onto a bed. Judging by the way the room was laid out, it was his bed. Hot. He held up a green t-shirt and grey sweatpants, giving me a ‘this good?’ look. I nodded, wearing the hot red-head’s clothes didn’t seem like a bad idea. Plus, I look fucking fantastic in green. He ran into the bathroom, starting the water to run a bath. He jogged back in, smiling at me softly. 

“Hey, just to clarify… you’re gay, right?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer. 

“Yeah, is it that obvious?” He quirked an eyebrow at me, chuckling nervously. 

“Nah,” I batted the air in front of my face, as if brushing away his concerns, “I just wanted to make sure before I tried to hop your bones.” A smile lit up his face as he folded the clothing. 

“I think it’s jump-- before you try to jump my bones,” he corrected, voice exuding a sort of shy confidence. Sexxxxxxxy… 

“Sexy and smart… man, I really do have great taste in guys.” His face lit up red, laughing at my effortless flirting. 

“Alright, man, I gotta get you undressed.”

“Forward, much?” He laughed again, unbuckling my belt as I attempted to take off my shirt. He had my belt and shoes off before I had even gotten my shirt partially off. 

“Need help?”

“I think I’m stuck.” He giggled, hands moving to the bottom of my top, lifting it off of me gently. His eyes trained themselves on my stomach. 

“Gotta get your pants off.” His hands moved to my waistband, taking off my pants in the most tragically awkward fashion ever. I only wore my boxers, smirk settling on my lips as he stared at me, eyes trained on my diiiiiiiiiick. Gotta lengthen that word because mines pretty big. 

“My eyes are up here, Red.” He snapped out of his thirst-fest, grinning at me. 

“Alright, let’s get you in the shower.” He lifted me up once again, my muscles burning as they tried to hold me up. We stumbled slightly, but managed to get into the bathroom, where he sat me on the ground, my back against a cabinet. “So I’ll leave the clothes,” he placed them on a towel rack, “here…” He turned off the water, seeing that the tub nearly full. He started to awkwardly back away. 

“What, ya gonna leave me alone, Red? In my injured state?” I quirked an eyebrow, eyes lighting up with mischief. He smirked, shaking his head as he moved into the tiny room, closing the door behind him. 

“You’re right. It’d be cruel of me-- leave you alone while you’re hurt, wouldn’t it?” 

“Yeah-- borderline abusive.” I pulled myself to my feet, biting my tongue so I wouldn’t yell in pain as my muscles screamed. The Gallagher tugged his shirt off before turning to help me into the tub. 

As adorable as Red was, even he couldn’t distract me from the absurd amounts of pain I felt as I was dipped into the water. My muscles made like the shower lady from Psycho, mouth forming an ‘O’ shape as I tried to keep myself from shouting out. The warm water seemed to seep into my body, burning my wounds. Red’s hands were covered in calluses, ones that I could feel as he brushed my hair out of my face. He grabbed a rag, soaking it in water at the sink, drizzling it in soap. His thumbs worked the soap into a lather before he knelt back down beside the tub. 

The pain was renewed as a shock of it ran down my body, his hand cupped my face-- soapy rag rubbing against my chin, wiping off the blood. He was quick, gently wiping substance from my cheek, lips and nose. I jerked slightly when the rag met the wound on my forehead-- one I don’t remember receiving. The grip he had on my jaw tightened, holding my face firmly in place. What had felt like years revealed itself to have been merely seconds as he rocked back, standing up to wash the rag in the sink. 

A strange swelling feeling in my chest appeared when the rag returned, moving slowly down my neck. The curvature of my adam’s apple was something the red-head took his time on, but quickly moved lower, reaching my collar bones. He had moved from being beside me to essentially reaching into the tub. He was so close, I could feel his warm breath fan my lips.

It took me about two seconds to act on my impulse. It took me about two seconds to crash my lips into his.


End file.
